


Opposite Day

by lizbobjones



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Truth Spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-25 17:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7541716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizbobjones/pseuds/lizbobjones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous asked: I don't know why, but I love Dean's hardcore projecting. I feel like if he ever gets hit with a spell that compels people to say the opposite of what they planned to say, tfw will mistake it for a truth spell for awhile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opposite Day

**Author's Note:**

> [original post](http://elizabethrobertajones.tumblr.com/post/129180952143/i-dont-know-why-but-i-love-deans-hardcore)

“Ow.”

“Dean, are you okay?!”

“No, everything hurts and I feel terrible.” He blinked in confusion, practically trying to squint at his own mouth as he sat up from the pile of splintered boards that had been the wall he was thrown through after being hit with the spell. Sam took it as another wince of pain.

“You’ve definitely been through worse,” he said, hauling Dean to his feet. The witch was dead, at least, thanks to Dean distracting her by getting thrown through said wall to give Sam a chance to sneak up behind her. It seemed like the end of things, anyway.

“My ankle feels funny. Maybe you should drive.”

Now Dean looked downright alarmed.

Sam pulled a face, assuming that if Dean wasn’t saying “I’m fine” there was probably a bone sticking out of his leg that he was trying not to mention, so he said nothing and just made sure Dean could actually walk. He seemed surprisingly unharmed for the amount of fuss he’d been making as they limped out of the abandoned warehouse of the week. 

Maybe he was just shaken - Sam figured the scowling looks at him in the driving seat meant sooner or later he’d be ousted and Dean would be behind the wheel again - so he pre-empted both problems by stopping to grab coffee so Dean would at least have a pick me up which might make him stop pulling that weird face he’d been making ever since the fight.

“Hey,” Dean said, as Sam got out the car, “Get me a French vanilla latte.”

Sam stopped and stared for a whole twenty seconds but instead of a punchline Dean just raised his eyebrows more and more and eventually added, to his own confusion, “Make it two shots of syrup.”

Actually, the really telling moment was when Sam handed him the coffee and Dean just said “thanks” like he actually sounded grateful, while scowling resentfully at the cardboard cup for daring to exist.

“Something’s wrong with you.”

Dean looked like he was going to complain about that and protest that everything was, somehow, normal, but instead he blurted out, “I don’t know what’s happening, and I really want to call Cas for help and make it his problem, like right now.”

“Dude, chill. You’re not dying. Drink your coffee. I’ll call him.”

“Yes, do that!” Dean outright slapped a hand over his mouth.

“…Maybe don’t say anything for a while,” Sam said, wincing at Dean’s horrified expression.

Dean resentfully sipped the coffee while staring silently at Sam with murder in his eyes, and a latte foam moustache. Sam bemusedly called Cas and, shooting several worried looks at Dean, explained that they’d already killed the witch and Dean seemed to have been hit with a truth spell. 

Honestly this would probably work itself out sooner or later like all the other victims he’d encountered who’d survived being bespelled, but Dean was kind of hilarious right now and if they met up at the Bunker they could get at least a day’s entertainment out of this.

(Well he didn’t say the last part out loud - unlike some people, he could keep his mouth shut. Serve Dean right for skipping interviews to check out a bar related to the at-that-point unexplained happenings, really.)

*

The drive home was pretty uneventful except for some rather baffling song requests as Sam flipped through the radio (he’d been allowed to keep driving on the understanding that if they got pulled over, who knew what Dean would blurt to a traffic cop, and Dean had emphatically agreed with Sam, which had been a nice change of pace - he was kind of sad this was only temporary). 

Cas actually had beat them back, and on the sight of his car parked outside the Bunker’s door, Dean practically cheered: “I can’t wait to see Cas!” He looked weirdly sick though. Sam smiled encouragingly and Dean grabbed his sleeve. “Sam, you’ve got to let me just say anything I like to Cas, you hear me?”

Which… weird. Sam frowned trying to work out what sort of truth that was or at least why it would be so urgent - did he always feel this close to a confession? but the sound of the Impala’s engine had clearly carried because the Bunker door opened and Cas was already coming to greet them. Dean thumped Sam hard on the arm and groaned in frustration, but bowed to the inevitable and got out of the car, with the look of one facing his doom well-practised from his years of confronting various apocalypses head on.

“Hello, Dean.”

Sam hung back to watch because Dean’s face as he struggled to come up with something to say was a goldmine, and he’d probably get punched even harder for filming this so he had to make it last.

“…Cas.” Dean just about inspected the word hanging in the air between them, and, satisfied to have not fucked up yet, accidentally plunged headfirst into the next sentence, which he looked completely unable to stop once he was going: “I really missed you and I hate that we keep going our separate ways, but Sam phoned you for me because I’m always too scared to do it and I’m so glad we’re together again… Wow that felt good to say.”

Dean blinked in horror, as Cas broke into a cautious smile he couldn’t help as much as Dean couldn’t stop himself from speaking. Dean slapped a hand over his mouth and darted around him, maybe actually about to throw up, or maybe just stopping any more words falling out of his mouth, and he disappeared down into the Bunker, slamming the door behind him in a full blown teenage tantrum.

Cas turned to Sam. “That was really quite cruel.” (Sam saw he was still smiling though - practically floating as they went to follow Dean at a much calmer pace.)

“Hey, he said he wanted a chance to splurge all his inner-most feelings at you. I let him take it.”

“Maybe I should go… I think my presence might be upsetting for him like this.”

“Come on, he asked for you to be here. Just don’t ask him any direct questions you don’t want answered, and I’m sure Dean being Dean he’ll find a way to avoid answering the rest.”

Cas rolled his eyes at that - they both knew exactly how “Dean being Dean” worked.

*

They found him hiding in his room with a stock of whiskey to last for days, and a chair wedged under the door handle. (Removed voluntarily after Sam and Cas had a loud conversation directly outside the door about if Cas was allowed to explode the door and how likely flying debris would kill Dean on the other side based on the small space in his room).

Dean pointed to the bottle of whiskey he was holding, hugged it, and then made a “dead to me” hand gesture to Sam and Cas, shoving past them on the way to the library.

“We’ve got to try and figure this out,” Sam said, when they were all seated at a table, Dean hiding his face behind his hands except to take more sips of whiskey. “Promise we won’t ask any awkward questions about the laptop’s internet history.”

“You know it’s always me anyway when you ask. Why do you have keep bugging me like you don’t know?”

“Because it’s disturbing. Just learn to delete the history so we don’t have these conversations.”

“I kind of perversely enjoy the attention. Sometimes I look weird shit up just to see your reaction.”

Cas cleared his throat to break up what was probably about to become the strangest fight ever between the brothers, and Dean poured and downed another glass of whiskey. “Do you know why the witch would have used a truth spell on you? It wasn’t the spell she was using on the other victims.”

Dean nodded emphatically. “I never met her before the fight.”

“It also seems a really pointless thing to do if you were trying to kill her,” Cas said. “Surely she knew any number of spells that would be more useful in her own defence.”

“It did throw him through a wall,” Sam said. “Perhaps it was the first thing that came to mind, and she just meant to knock him out and run away.”

“That’s definitely all it was about,” Dean agreed.

“I suppose all we can do is look up truth spells that can be cast in that way, and see if there is a way to remove it, since it didn’t lift with her death.”

“It might not be permanent,” Sam admitted, now the fun was wearing off. “There was a night watchman she cursed to be blind so he wouldn’t see her when she was robbing some businesses and trying not to leave a trail of bodies yet, and his sight had come back by the time I talked to him.”

Dean angrily thumped the table to hear this useful bit of information for the first time a day late.

“I can try and see how long it will last, if you’ll permit me?” Cas asked, standing up and gesturing towards Dean with the two fingers of the universally recognised sign for angel forehead boops. Dean opened his mouth to protest, and wisely shut it again.

Cas pressed his fingers to Dean’s forehead for a moment, and looked thoughtfully into his eyes while his grace felt around in Dean for the spell. Dean bit his lower lip hard, and looked away as soon as Cas let him go.

“I kinda like it when you do that… It’s tingly. Ugh!” Dean thunked his head on the table. Sam had never seen Cas blush before, which was fascinating just for the novelty value. Cas looked disturbed about something way more important, doing his best to ignore Dean (probably to Dean’s great relief). “Sam, can I talk to you alone?”

Dean looked up in alarm, but Cas gave him one of his fantastically unreassuring smiles and made a break for the door. Sam followed, keeping an eye on Dean, who thankfully was content to sit still and take another steadying drink.

“What?” Sam asked Cas in a low voice as soon as they were standing on the other side of the door peering back at Dean.

“He’s not affected by a truth spell.”

“He’s not? Then what was all… that?”

“He’s under some compulsion, but it’s nothing to do with forcing him to adhere to absolute honesty. It seems more likely it’s forcing him to say the opposite of what he means any time he opens his mouth.”

“But then… He said all that nice stuff to you.” Scratch feeling like he’d overstepped a line a little - Sam felt awful to have exposed Cas to Dean like this and finally got him a straight answer - after a strange moment of unbelievable hope.

Cas just scowled and looked away, down to the far end of the library where Dean was still sitting drowning his sorrows.

“Okay, so if he’s saying the opposite of what he means, then he did meet the witch before - oh no, he went to the bar without me the first night we were in town.” Sam turned and strode back into the library. He thumped both hands down on the table, making Dean jump. “Dean, did you try hitting on the witch without realising who she was, and somehow come across as a complete lying jackass with your sketchy pick up routine, so she cursed you as some sort of fitting payback?”

Dean threw up his hands in the air like finally. “I wasn’t going to tell you!”

“Okay, you know what, the spell’s temporary, enjoy it.” Sam rolled his eyes and left.

“Wow, great!” Dean said completely unsarcastically.

Cas wasn’t sure what else to do; leave them to it since there was really nothing he could do, he felt. He was even less sure Dean wanted him around than he had been since the last hundred times they’d parted on strange terms. He had just made up his mind to leave, and turned away, but a grumpy “Go away,” stopped him in his tracks.

He turned, and saw Dean pushing a second glass towards him. Well, if nothing else, he could harmlessly absorb a portion of the bottle to stop Dean drinking it all by himself.

“Did you know it wasn’t a truth spell?” he asked when he had sat down next to Dean.

“Yes.” Dean’s eyebrows raised curiously. “I was certain of it most of the time.”

“You’re just saying the opposite of what you mean. It just looks like a truth spell because you have an aggravating allergy to the truth.”

“You’re always so gentle with my feelings. I can lie sometimes.”

Cas laughed despite how grim the conversation felt, just to hear those words at their apparent earnestly spoken face value.

Dean pressed on: “I was lying when I said I liked you. I actually really resent being around you, you know.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean you’re great sometimes, but… but most of the time I kinda hate you and wish you’d just leave and never come back.”

“I always come back, Dean.”

“Yeah, and it’s fucking annoying. I wish you wouldn’t.”

Dean looked confusingly on the verge of laughing at his own backwards words as well, and terrified and rather hopeful of the opposite message he’d been broadcasting.

Cas gently put his hand over Dean’s, slowly like he might scare him away, and moved closer to look deep into his eyes. Dean’s breath visibly caught and Cas could see his gaze dropping to examine his lips, calculating the distance…

“I’ll just get my coat and go then, if you don’t need me,” Cas said, leaning back.

Dean groaned, now the one scrabbling to catch Cas’s hand as he tried to stand up. “I don’t need you. I don’t want you. Cas… I loathe you.”

Cas didn’t let Dean pull him back into his chair - he yanked him to his feet so he could kiss him properly.

There was at least one thing Dean’s tongue could get right that day.


End file.
